Of Hypocrisy
by SoundShards
Summary: When a new book about the Labyrinth appears in Sarah's possession without her memory of acquiring it, Sarah determines to fight whatever the Goblin King is plotting. J/S
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **When a new book about the Labyrinth appears in Sarah's possession without her memory of acquiring it, Sarah determines to fight whatever the Goblin King is plotting.

**Warnings: **This story will be somewhat dark and will contain mature themes. If you are not over eighteen, this story is not for you. (A note, however: all sex will be consensual_—_ I will _not _write rape in any form or amount.) Because of this website's policies in regards to violent and sexual themes, I will likely be moving this story to a different site as the story progresses. If and when I choose to do so, I will make a note of it in a chapter, leading you to its link on my profile, should you wish to continue reading.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the realm in which I am writing, and I do not make any claims upon it.

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><p><span>Chapter One:<span>

When Sarah found the small leather bound book, a sense of fond nostalgia swept over her, bringing a soft smile to her face. Its covering blue with gold lettering, the book was supple and warm. Seemingly without thought, she had sat upon her bed and pulled the book open, gently coaxing the pages apart despite the creaks of the binding. As Sarah settled against her pillows, she began to read.

_And so it came one day in the Underworld that the mistreated, unappreciated, and altogether miserable Sarah made a deal with the Goblin King, a fierce and stupendous monarch— a fair, handsome, roguishly masculine royal. _

At this sentence, Sarah furrowed her brows. It… did not sound right. Yet it seemed so familiar. Despite struggling to think past the strong sense of acquaintance, she ultimately continued reading.

_Sarah cried out in anguish as her wicked stepmother and her neglectful father left her alone once more to clean the vast house and watch her screeching infant of a brother. _

Sitting upright and ignoring the pillows tumbling behind her, Sarah reread the sentence and then glanced back through the words again. As the haze of nostalgia began to shudder, she swiftly flipped through pages, catching brief sentences as alarm began to thrum in her veins.

_As Sarah danced with the Goblin King, soft flutters scrambled about in her stomach, and where soft leather grasped her hands, a tingling sensation began to numb her hands. A giddy laugh broke past her lips, and her King smiled indulgently at her. _

Absolutely _not_, Sarah barked inwardly. That caricature of her dream made the entire escapade sound positively romantic, rather than dizzying and frantic. She skipped a small chunk of pages forward, her eyes alighting upon the final confrontation between her and the Goblin King.

_When Sarah stepped beyond the castle doors, the King stood awaiting her. His throne room was resplendent with shimmering jewels and fantastical objects, ones that she could scarcely comprehend—_

Scoffing, Sarah tossed the small book away from her, resisting the urge to toe the monstrosity off the side of bed. The _Goblin King_ was certainly painted in a lovely manner in the book—a book she had no recollection of acquiring. Suspicion flaring, Sarah wondered how the leather bound book of lies had found itself nestled between her alarm clock and lamp. She had told no one of that night over ten years ago, preferring to forget the event altogether. Although she had occasionally called upon her friends, the times had grown fewer as she aged, and most days, she was content to pretend the Goblin King and his world had been naught but a dream.

Yet setting innocently upon her bed was her entire story within the Labyrinth, edited to sound as though the entire ordeal had been a pleasant escape from her arduous life. Rolling her eyes even now, Sarah despised looking back upon her actions so many years ago. An overdramatic girl, she had given away her _brother_ because her father and stepmother wished to get out of the house one night a week. Even if her relationship with her stepmother had merely settled into cool familiarity, the companionship she shared with Toby was well worth all she had been through.

And _none_ of it had been as bad as that blasted book claimed, she thought with a pointed, distasteful glance.

She was acutely aware that the book had outlined in specific detail how to make a deal with the Goblin King, a fact that hinted towards her fears. Although she certainly questioned _why_, Sarah recognized what the book was doing. Her main concern, however, was quickly realized when the first words out of Toby's mouth that night during their phone call were, "Remember that book we used to read when we was younger? Well, I found it in the living room, right under some of them magazines Dad's always bringing in from work—you know, the ones with the woodworking stuff? He always says he's gonna build a deck, but I haven't even seen him build a bird house, so I don't know if—"

While normally Sarah would have let him ramble as twelve year olds are wont to do, she instead found herself asking if he found anything strange about the book, a quiet urgency bleeding into her voice.

"Well… no. It's funny, though, when I was skimming through it, I kept getting these flashes, something almost like a memory but that's not right…—probably from when you used to read it to me! That's it. You've always been so good at describing things—_hey_, you should write a book! You studied English in school, right?"

Nauseated and lightheaded at the news that Toby, too, had the book, Sarah begged off the phone, citing a long day a work for her quiet demeanor and short conversation. As she started to rest the phone in its cradle, she paused before quickly bringing it back to her ear.

"Hey, Tobe—will you do me a favor?"

"Sur—waaait, what'll ya give me for't?" Mischievousness coloured his tone, and Sarah knew exactly what he wanted—and knew that she would have to do exactly that.

With an over-exaggerated sigh, she said with a small, hidden smile, "You want _pizza_?"

Karen was strict about what Toby could eat, enforcements that had carried over into her father's diet over the years. Thankfully, Sarah had retained her gluttonous ways in spite of years of opposition Still, Toby loved pizza, as it was something he only experienced at friends' houses and parties (of which there were too few, in his opinion), and so he always begged her to purchase the food for dinner when he visited without Karen and their father. Most times, she abided by Karen's wishes and fixed him a relatively healthy dinner, full of ripe vegetables and hearty fibers and meaty proteins, and she cackled gleefully as he pouted around the vibrant meal he had stuffed petulantly into his mouth.

"SHH—don't let Mom hear you." His voice had taken on a wispy quality as he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "But yes, for the next _fifteen_ times I visit."

Barking out an abrupt laugh, Sarah wheezed for a second, drawing out the noise to notify Toby what would _not_ be happening. Still slightly breathless, she responded, "Toby, I'll get you pizza the next three times you come over, and that's the best you're going to get."

With his promise of securing the newly arrived book in a box _immediately _after hanging up, with the intent to be mailed out the following day, Sarah softly returned the corded phone to its home, the small smile drooping into a grimace.

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><p>Days had passed since the discovery of the book in her bedroom, and though difficult to determine, it appeared that despite the books' appearance in most everyone's homes, no one was discussing it. Beyond Toby, no one seemed to even be affected by the existence of the blue book.<p>

Aware that this observation meant nothing, she could not dispel the disquieting sensation that fell upon her when looking at the book, of which she now had two. Sarah flicked a glance at the two blue bound books sitting atop her coffee table and clenched her fists. She knew that only the creatures of the Labyrinth and herself could recall the story, and only one besides herself could actually pen it. Dread mixed with the nostalgia she still could not fully shake nestled in her belly as she struggled to determine why the Goblin King would choose now to orchestrate a lavish tale of the wonders of the Underworld. Not to mention why he would deposit copies of it with Toby and her, yet somehow inhibit the ability within Toby to fully discuss it. Sarah had never read or told Toby any of those stories, but he _remembered_ pieces of it. She did not know why her brother was unconcerned about their names in the book, and she wished she could blame it on typical teenage obliviousness, but Toby had always been a rather precocious child and less likely to fall into his age's mannerisms.

She was confused. She hated that even now, over a decade later, that blasted Goblin King could still spin her in circles.

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><p>Although months had progressed since the King had sent his book to the Aboveground, Sarah still was unable to accept its innocence. If it had not been for a troubling disappearance of one of her pupils to a scheduled tutoring session or the elder sibling's haunted stare or the parents' blissful conversations, Sarah would not have realized with a horrifying jolt what the King intended with his book.<p>

_He wants more children. _

She had pulled the child into a darkened corner of the library, away from his tittering parents, as she tried to quell the rage thrumming within her.

"_Give me the book, Louis." Her voice was cold—harsher than it should have been, as the thirteen year old immediately teared up, his face flushing a dull red. _

"_I didn't me-me-mean it! It's no-not fair—I couldn't beat i-it." _

_Gripping his arm tightly, she asked slowly, darkly, "Where is the book?"_

"_It's gone! Wh-hen I got back—" he stuttered to a stop here, great wailing cries falling out of his mouth. _

"_What did she do, Louis? Steal your toys? Hide in your room? What did Mary do that you __wished_ _your only sister away?" Her voice raised slightly, the anger seeping into her voice. Whatever else she might have said, though, was interrupted by the boy's parents, having heard their son's hysterics. _

_A fake, sympathetic smile turned up her lips as she murmured to the parents, having relaxed her grip on their son's arm upon their appearance, "He said he failed his last Math test—he was too afraid to tell you. But don't you worry, Mr. and Mrs. Blakely, we'll have his next score much higher if you enroll him in the library's free Math tutoring session. The details are at the front desk with Annette." _

Sarah recognized that not many people were aware of the Goblin King anymore, outside of the superstitious circles dotted across the globe. She had simply been an intrigued child when she stumbled across the red book, and yet it had been enough to foster an obsession as she aged. But there were different children's tales now, ones that did not center on dark goblins and deals.

She wondered how many people had come through the Labyrinth after her, prior to the King's authorial debut.

Sarah already had a guess: too few for the Goblin King.

From the couch in her living room, Sarah stared down at the red and blue books, and she wondered, not for the first time, about the author of the former. With rising fear, she worried how many people now possessed the blue book and how many people had already made deals as she once did. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, gnashing down upon it and pulling at dried skin with her teeth. At the rush of blood onto her tongue, she flinched and licked tentatively at her ravaged lip, and when the taste of rust assaulted her senses, she stood abruptly. As she rummaged through her apartment for a tissue, Sarah thought upon the problem.

_If those people really knew what the experience was like, they wouldn't be rushing to make __any__ deals with that wretch. _

Tissue in hand, Sarah stilled at the idea wriggling towards the front of her mind. Perhaps she _could_ write what the experience had actually been like. Whatever magic the King used was not strong enough to allow discussion—to allow the ideas to grow into a worldwide phenomenon, and so it was simply an inkling, a kernel stuck in the teeth of a memory. But Sarah could write her story and publish it in the Aboveground, where the book would be _real_.

This action was all Sarah could do, short of wishing away her brother again and confronting the King, but that sort of decision was foolhardy—the kind she would have endorsed as the young girl who had walked the Labyrinth. Sitting back down absentmindedly, Sarah reached the only solution she could reasonably _do_: write her story. Write her story in such a manner that no one would ever wish away another child again, no matter how obnoxious, regardless of the pitch of its screams, and despite how _unfair_ it all seemed.

She did not fear the Goblin King, for he had no power over her. She had taken that book away from Toby, and she was sure the boy had already forgotten it—the memory replaced with his last two visits (and therefore last two pizzas). Even her friends, though fond as she may still have been of them, had likely moved on and were less likely to face any punishment for her actions, _should_ the Goblin King find out.

Plotting, Sarah pondered how to demonize an already terrifying experience. With regret, she realized she would have to cut out her friends, and a piercing longing shot through her as she calculated how very long it had been since she had called them to her. Over five years to her, but more than that in the Underworld. After all, she had been gone for thirteen hours in the Underworld, but upon arriving back home, only four had passed.

_Oh, my… it's been over sixteen years to them._

She marveled at how long it had been to the Underworld since she first arrived—over thirty-two years. Sarah had felt the passage of time as any other human, but now she realized why her friends had always seemed sadder as the time lengthened between each visit. What had seemed to her only a few months had been almost years to them, and she had let over sixteen years pass between seeing them. How different they must all be—how much must have occurred to the Underworld, she thought.

How the Goblin King must have changed. Surely, she reasoned. But a glance at the blue bound book sitting atop her coffee table told her otherwise, and she heaved a heavy breath as she reached for a pad and pencil, scribbling down her memories.

* * *

><p>It was almost a year before she had finished writing the story, madly pecking at the keyboard on the gloriously new, fabulously pricey Microsoft Windows Personal Computer, 1998 model, but on the eve of her brother's thirteenth birthday, she typed the final words to her journey. The tale she had written over the course of the past months was a gruesome one, far darker than anything she had experienced, and though she had changed many facets to her story, the most startling one was the outcome of <em>Linda<em>'s journey: she failed.

After an arduous trek full of dangers and terrors, Linda did not reach the castle in time, and she was forced to watch as the horrendously ugly Goblin King transformed her baby brother into a goblin, a painful and cruel process. Admittedly, the decision to make the Goblin King an ugly monster had made her lips quirk with vindictive glee, as she could not imagine a man who changed outfits that many times within thirteen hours was not, in some fashion, acutely aware of his looks.

"As good as they may be," she muttered, thinking back on what could be categorized as her first look at the male anatomy, what with how tight his pants had been and how lithely he had moved… and how… _close_ he had gotten. Breathing deeply through her nose, Sarah stood from her hunched position over her computer, saving her finalized work repeatedly until she felt content that it was safe.

She had approached several publishing houses with the idea of her book, and she figured that the natural recognition of the story from the King's magic had been the cause of so many acceptances. Sarah hoped that the same recollection would create readers out of the same people who might have wished away children to the Goblin King. She had purposefully slipped in certain amounts of humor, so that it could slide as a darker children's book but retain its warnings.

* * *

><p>The first time her agent told her how her novel was selling, she was pleasantly surprised. She had guiltily accepted the advance check for signing on with her publishing house and had meekly taken the subsequent ones. Sarah's intent had been to reach as many people as she could, and she had been aware that she would make money off of those sales, yet the idea of keeping it for something that, for one, she had not truly earned, and two, was a lie, settled unhappily within her.<p>

Still, she deposited the checks in a separate account, intending to do something good with the money once she had fully researched her options. Of course, Sarah would be a fool if she did not use the opportunity to pay off her student loans and buy a special gift or two for her family, but beyond such expenses, the money remained untouched. She kept her job at the library, and she ignored her agent's urging to write a sequel.

Life was… normal—as normal as it could be with hefty checks arriving quarterly, increasing in size as the months turned, and an increasingly rabid fan-base. She was glad she had written under a pseudonym—especially as the novel spread internationally. _S. Hoggle_ was a tribute to her first and most dear friend in the Underworld, and she hoped he and her other friends would forgive her for how she had twisted their story.

Weeks had melted into months, which shifted into years, and after two of those, Sarah was ready to entertain the idea of writing an original novel—one not based on her adventure so many years ago.

_Diane, _

_I think I'm onto another story. I'll update you once I have something more substantial. _

_- Sarah_

Clicking send, Sarah straightened from her signature slouch over the keyboard and grasped the armrests of her computer chair, firmly twisting her torso round. Eyes slightly closed with satisfaction at the descending series of low cracks, she turned the other direction.

At the flash of white seen through her shuttered eyes, Sarah froze. Her eyes swept frantically about the room, cataloging everything from her swaying curtains, the piles of magazines and books scattered across her coffee table, to her own novel sitting innocently on the end table that stood proudly behind her couch.

Nausea flared in her stomach at the sight.

_I only have _one_ copy of that book, and it's on a shelf in the study, away from any prying eyes_.

The moment her inner dialogue finished, a din of thunder rumbled. Shakily standing from her seat, Sarah clutched in her hand the butter knife setting beside her mouse—the aftermath of a slice of fresh bread and the overwhelming, insatiably frantic urge to write—and stumbled her way to the novel. Still clinging to her dull weapon, she held the book in trembling hands, ones which could barely open the front cover and instead grabbed a thick chunk of pages with their clumsy movements.

_And the gaping jaw of the Goblin King fell open slowly in a sneering grin—letting show multiple rows of horrifically sharp teeth as he prepared to speak. _

"Hello, Sarah."

Her fingers tightened upon the binding of the book, clenching about the thick material until her fingers paled in fierce tension and screamed at the pressure of the metal of her knife upon them. The voice was soft and dark—as deep as she had remembered, but with more clipped efficiency than her dreams had recalled over the years.

_The Goblin King._

Mustering the courage that had led her through the Labyrinth so long ago, Sarah turned.

He was both exactly as he once was and utterly different. She was not surprised, and yet she was. Perhaps she had expected the King to change in thirty years, but looking upon the spiked and jagged hair, the free flowing shirt matched with the opulent dress jacket, the —Sarah's perusal stuttered to a brief halt—familiarly tight pants, he seemed to have swaggered out of her memories.

Sweeping her gaze to his eyes, she met his coldly amused, mismatched ones, watching as they dipped to her hands.

"Come now, Sarah, is that any way to greet an old _friend_?" His voice dropped on the final word, its timbre close to the rumbling of the storm above.

His presence made her feel every bit of the fifteen year old girl she had once been, and she struggled to fight past the urge to either cower or rage. Swallowing hard, Sarah slowly set the butter knife and the foreign copy of her book on the table. She ignored the feral glint gleaming in his icy eyes.

"Hello, Goblin King." Her voice had shaken only on the first syllable, after which it had strengthened into all that her twenty-nine year old self had become.

_You have no power over me._

He grinned then, his pointy teeth shining in the dim light given by her computer. It was night, she realized suddenly. She had been writing the majority of the day, and she had not felt the passage of the sun as it had crossed the sky and dipped below the horizon. How strange, she thought, that the knowledge of nighttime made her more frightened. She stabbed her nails deeply into her palms, anchoring herself to the bites of pain, before she pulled her shoulders back.

_You have no power over me._

"Are you preparing for battle, Sarah?" His voice was silky, no longer dark and thundering, but the stilted, cropped syllables characteristic of his speech remained.

"Should I be," she questioned, hard and short.

He laughed, sudden and sharp—forced and yet genuine. "Oh, Sarah," he brought his hands to rest upon his hips, "_of course_."

Jerking backwards, Sarah's hand swiped the knife off the table, gripping it tightly.

_You have no power over me._

"In what manner?" Cold.

"In what manner should you be preparing or in what manner shall you be battling?" He spoke lazily, a grin alight on his face and obviously pleased at her visceral reaction. "Oh, _dear_ Sarah, are you _frightened_?"

Grimacing in irritation at his condescension, she spoke, "I would be a fool to not be frightened of the monster that has terrified children all across the world." She nodded tightly to her book.

His smile dropped immediately, and his face darkened. "Yes, I am _aware_ of that drivel of yours."

_You have no power over me_.

"Is that why you have come?" As the fear faded, Sarah's fiery temper began to ignite, emboldening her. "Do you wish to congratulate me on such success?" She spoke loftily, haughtily—as though the conversation were trite and he had really best be going, now.

Though he looked murderous—eyes flinty with rage and lips firmly set into a deep scowl, Sarah continued speaking. "It was kind of you to come such a distance to do so. I suppose you enjoyed it, then?" She smiled widely, showing too many straight teeth—too much gum—it was too much have revealed, in a disconcerting contrast to his tightly pressed lips.

_You have no po—_

With a blur of motion, Sarah was held tightly within his arms, his face towering over her. His teeth bared in a snarl, he looked more similar to the monster she had created than ever before, and with a squeezing, frightening sensation, Sarah and the Goblin King were vanished from her living room.

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><p><strong>AN: **I'm still currently without a beta, as I've just returned to the world of writing fanfiction after some time, so if you would forgive any mistakes and kindly point them out to me, I would be eternally grateful.

Until chapter two_—_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

Stumbling out of the Goblin King's grasp, Sarah fell to the stones beneath her, heaving. As her stomach convulsed and violently spilled its contents, tears traced along the length of her nose before dripping off its tip. She shuddered and attempted to stay the bile burning her throat, her past meals already expelled. Her lips held tight against the rush of acid swishing in her mouth and pressing against her teeth, yet when she tried to swallow the substance back down, another rush roared up, and she vomited atop her previous mess.

As she trembled on her knees, eyes pressed together and fighting nausea, a soft sensation pressed over her, easing the aggressive shakes and her upset stomach—altogether vanishing the itchy tears that had dried upon her skin. Warily opening her eyes, she blinked up at the Goblin King, too exhausted from her body's reaction to do more than stiffen weakly at his proximity.

His eyes were cold, and the disgust twisting his pretty face, obvious. The magic that had cleaned her had little to do with kindness, she knew, and more with what had darkened his features. Her muscles ached from their exertion, and her head pounded fiercely; she swallowed, only to wince at the rough soreness. The desire to stand was overwhelming, but every movement made was followed by some ache or another that stilled her, pressing her down against the cool stone.

"_Do_ get up, Sarah." Clipped and apathetic, the voice did little to motivate her to risk pain when she felt so much better against the quiet rocks. They reminded her of Ludo, and she felt so very warm with the thought. When it became apparent that Sarah was ignoring the King, he tightly gripped her arm and pulled upwards, a rough action that wrought a small cry of pain from her lips as she was lifted slightly. With a dark glower, the Goblin King grabbed both shoulders and yanked her towards him, not even stumbling when she fell heavily against him as her legs folded.

A noise of revulsion roused Sarah's heavy lids, and she lolled her head backwards, staring dazedly at him. As the moment morphed into several, the King's face grew more pinched with annoyance and disdain. Sarah leaned farther away from him, relying solely on his arm strength to hold her body.

This was a mistake.

With a malicious twist of his lips, the King released her, and Sarah tumbled once more to the stone walkway. She groaned weakly, rolling onto her side, yet thankful she had not cracked her head against the hard path beneath her. Being unconscious around the Goblin King would not be safe, considering he just magicked her awa—

_How?!_ _He had no power over her!_

Suddenly very, very fearful, Sarah scrambled backwards—an awkward, quaking crab walk that made the King chuckle darkly. Shuddering once more, she stood, ignoring the shaky tremble that swept through her limbs and the way her legs buckled one—twice—before holding firm.

She regarded the King cautiously, fighting against the thick, icy sensation of fear seeping through her veins and struggling not to panic as she became aware of her surroundings beyond the cold stones upon which she had been sick.

_The Labyrinth_.

A spasm shot through her, tightening her lips and pulling her back taut.

She spoke in but a rasp. "How? 'You have no powe—'"

"_Don't_." His voice was cold and deadly—far more malevolent than ever before, and an inkling nudged at Sarah that she had not yet _truly_ seen the Goblin King angry. Anger and confusion warred with tired apathy, all mingling together to coagulate into a mess of throbbing pain and terror. The monarch of her memory had been cruel, yes, but never fully—never outwardly, her thoughts screamed— malignant. Fighting the urge to shuffle backwards—trying to tamp down on the desire to flee for the hills, for even being lost in this muddle of a maze would be better than standing here, where his eyes were so dark and cold and he _had_ power over her and what would he do to her now that she was _here_ and under his control—

She was panicking, she realized. The air refused to enter her mouth, choking her through deprivation, and she stumbled backwards, away from his harsh eyes and, and—and she had romanticized him over the years, oh _God_, what had she done: she had forgotten the terror that had barely lost over teenage impetuousness, how distant and utterly uncaring his eyes had been as he set the cleaners upon her. She had let the years dull those memories, and she had believed herself _safe_ against the Goblin King, even as she openly defied and insulted him.

Stilling as a thought twisted ice through her, she met his eyes.

"What are you going to do to me?"

_What are you going to do to Toby?_

She had been foolish Aboveground, taunting him and writing that novel without appropriate thought to the consequences, but if he had power over her, then he might be able harm Toby. _Words have power_.

He spoke softly, "What_ever_ do you mean, Sarah?"

His voice was gentle, void of any emotion, but his eyes were glittering with glee. He answered nothing, she had noticed, instead twisting the conversation to another strain, something asinine and pointless. Talking with him was like walking the Labyrinth again.

"Why have you brought me here?" Fear for Toby and her family and friends had chilled her, bringing a firm posture and a steady voice.

"You are _here_ to see the damage you have inflicted upon the Underground with your _story_." The words were spat, angry and hard, but the faintest note of sadness crept in, perhaps without his notice, for his face had hardened immediately after the words had slipped past his thin lips. She started at the emotion he had revealed, unsure how to reconcile it to the same creature who had dropped her to the ground mere moments before. Hesitantly looking away from the Goblin King, Sarah finally examined the Labyrinth in which she stood, gazing upon the crumbling, shortening walls and browned, wilted hedges—finally noticing the quiet hum to the air that had once roared with old magic.

"How did—how did I do this?" She asked softly, a measure of the rigid fear melting within her when the Labyrinth's magic tentatively brushed against her mind. Although she jumped at the sensation, the emotion behind it was exhausted sadness, and her heart automatically offered its guilt, pulling her lips into a thoughtful frown.

When she glanced back to the Goblin King, he was already staring at her. The burning anger in his eyes had fled in place of subdued resignation, and he spoke in measured beats. "The Labyrinth receives energy from the people who run it; it feeds on the wild magic that was created out of the deal made." He paused to glance quickly at the Labyrinth, some emotion swelling in his eyes, before it was quickly snuffed. "Not many people wish away their children anymore, as the tales of the _Goblin King_ and his Labyrinth have been replaced with newer stories, and so the Labyrinth has steadily declined these past several hundred years. It was rejuvenated by your visit, yet the effects only lasted but a short space of time." He seemed to be searching for something within her, but she could not say whether he found it or not, as he looked away swiftly and continued his explanation. "It seemed logical to spread the story Aboveground once more, and so I wrote your story to encourage more visitors."

"_My _story? You changed so much of what actually happened, that it ceased to be mine!"

The tentative brushes against her mind snapped away quickly, almost fearfully, and the Goblin King stood stoically, blinking slowly at her. "And? Is this self-righteous anger because I _lied_?" He posed the question softly, a dangerous edge to his words that should have made her pause.

"You _lied_," here she mimicked his own inflections upon the word, "because you knew the truth would _never_ make people want to wish away anyone."

As a dark smirk stretched across the King's face and his eyes hardened with malevolent glee, Sarah felt her stomach turn uneasily, and she prayed her body would not repeat its earlier expulsions. When he began speaking, his voice was deceptively soft, gentle and cooing, "Sarah, dear, do you _truly_ wish to pass judgment upon me for the lies _I _wrote?" His voice hardened, cold fury throwing sharp words are her, "We both know that I am not alone in lying to the Aboveground, Sarah."

"I lied to _protect_ the _'Aboveground'_," she snarled, using his term with contempt.

"And I lied to protect the Underground," he returned swiftly.

Refusing to argue the point further—unwilling to admit the similarities in their actions, Sarah spoke, "You never answered how _I _did this." Her hands spread in a small arc unthinkingly, before swiftly pressing them back against her hips.

"Why did you cut your hair, Sarah?" He asked suddenly, ignoring her furrowed brows. She resisted the urge to run her fingers through the short strands that fell about her ears, declining to acknowledge his tangential question.

"My booked worked, didn't it?" She said instead, gripping the bones of her hips through the low slung jeans she wore. "People stopped coming, didn't they?" If she had not been studying the slope of his sharp cheeks, she would not have seen his jaw twitch minutely. Something akin to vindication rushed through her at the reaction, even as she edged her feet farther apart, slowly widening herself into a stronger stance.

Paranoia swatted at the back of her mind, pressing close and then scurrying away the moment she tried to reach for it. Sarah knew she could not trust the Goblin King; there was something in his manner that screamed at her to notice more, to _understand_ all that she was not, yet the guilt was rising within her at each skittish brush of the Labyrinth's magic, soft tendrils wrapping around her and comforting her still rolling stomach. The anger she had felt was softening, and the fear that had frozen her, lessening. Why she was there, though, she did not understand—why did he need her? He had shown her what she had caused with her words, but he had not made any quick moves to punish her—_why?_ The lack of knowledge ate at Sarah, and she felt the urge to scratch at the itch it caused more than the ache of her legs or the steady thrum of her heartbeat reverberating about her mind.

"If the Labyrinth knows the intent is sincere, the child is recovered. It's just that oftentimes, people do _mean_ it when they wish their child away." His voice was loud in the silence that had settled around them, as the Labyrinth had lowered its hum, almost as though to give the two a semblance of privacy. Although Sarah could still feel the magic gumming at her, she pretended she could not.

"So others have recovered the ones they wished away?"

"Of course, Sarah." The way the words were spoken, Sarah felt as if he had answered an entirely different question. The tension between them lessened, even though her suspicions had flared, and she was sure he had lied to her, through whatever means. The Goblin King's stance relaxed slightly, and with a wave of his hand, he conjured two wrought iron chairs and a glass slab that hovered between them. At his urging, Sarah uncomfortably seated herself, watching with some interest as he did the same.

_That nixes the idea of his being fae, I guess. _

They stared at one another for several long moments— she, with increasing discomfort and he, with a growing smirk.

"You have grown to be quite old." The comment was bland, but the look in his eyes was the exact opposite. She could have pretended the darkening was desire, had she not seen the same eyes when prostrated on the ground, puking.

Hardly bothered by her age, she raised a brow and inquired, "And how old are you?" He waved his hand in practiced nonchalance, as though sweeping the question away with the mere movement—one which froze when she added in the same guileless tone, "You look quite older than I."

The brief flash of horror that scuttled across his features was well worth the following annoyance that twisted his previous smile into a deep grimace. "Why did you study literature instead of drama?" He paused as though to contemplate his own inquiry. "_Oh_, dear Sarah, did you realize you didn't have the talent for the stage?"

Sarah chuckled loudly, his petty attempt to cut back for her age comment amusing her. "Hardly. I just grew out of it."

There was a pause where neither spoke in which Sarah realized what he had just asked her. _How does he know in what I majored?_

"How did the Labyrinth look back when… y'know, there was more magic?" Sarah stumbled in her words, hesitant to mention all the children wished away.

The Goblin King surprised her by sighing almost wistfully and leaning back against his chair, slinging a leather clad leg atop the floating glass. "It was beautiful."

A rush of magic leapt at her, coasting its indignation across her skin. Smiling, just a small bit, Sarah ducked her head as the King let out a genuine laugh—far different than any of the previous ones. The notes of his chuckle were deep and slow with a rolling tone. Frowning, Sarah tugged on a chunk of hair that had fallen past her ear and tucked it snugly with its fellow strands.

"It _was_ beautiful— no use hiding it, dear friend," the Goblin King spoke, a lazy grin curling his lips. "It was once much larger than it is now—even larger than when you ran it. The walls rose up so that one could only see sky; now," he paused to grimace, "one could probably climb over them, they crumble so."

The mournful rush of magic in her mind softened her back, and as she glanced around her, the images the Goblin King continued to describe were superimposed over the present decay—and it _was _beautiful, she thought distantly.


End file.
